The late autumn wind swept through the Courtyard, stirring up a ground of withered yellow leaves.
Since that absurd Contracted Engagement, half a year had quietly passed.
To Xiao Liuli, these six months were the most peaceful she’d lived since her fall from the clouds, yet also the most unlike “herself”.
The Nine Nether Frost lingering within her was still like a maggot attached to the bone, reminding her daily of a shameful past.
But Ye Chen’s bowl of [Three Yang Warming Soup] stood like a solid dam, locking the overwhelming pain that could shatter the mind within a bearable boundary.
The pain remained, but it was no longer despair.
More importantly, this small courtyard felt like an invisible barrier, shutting out all the warmth and coldness of human relations and the endless gossip of the outside world.
She had once stood at the peak, hearing the most beautiful flattery, and had also plunged into the abyss, witnessing the ugliest scorn and ridicule.
She had tasted both extremes of the world within just a few years, her heart already hardened like iron.
But here, none of that existed.
Ye Chen was calm, peaceful, and unchanging.
He never asked about her past, never probed into the secrets beneath her mask, nor cared about her current title of “waste”.
His attitude toward her had not changed since the day she first entered this place six months ago.
This “unchanging” itself was the ultimate form of gentleness for someone who had suffered the pain of ever-shifting fortunes.
It was a silent respect, heavier than a mountain.
Here, she didn’t need to play any role.
She was neither the former genius nor the current burden.
She could simply be Xiao Liuli, an ordinary person brewing tea and watching the falling leaves on a quiet afternoon.
Those memories wrapped tightly in pain and hatred, already decayed, were being healed and peeled away little by little in the tranquility of each day.
She even discovered that the strings in her heart, which had been taut for years, had unknowingly relaxed.
Occasionally, Xiao Xiao would bring new snacks, chirping about the latest “oddities” the young master had performed in the Courtyard—like spending an hour watching ants move or staring at a stone all afternoon.
At first, Xiao Liuli simply listened quietly.
Later, she found herself asking a question or two.
Eventually, when she heard that Ye Chen had poured precious Purple Cloud Nectar onto the Spirit-Focusing Grass, she couldn’t control it—a faint smile, so subtle she didn’t even notice herself, escaped her lips.
She had changed, and even she could feel it.
That afternoon, she was still brewing tea beneath the veranda.
Ye Chen was crouched in a corner of the Courtyard, tending the Spirit-Focusing Grass that had grown ever more lush.
Xiao Liuli’s gaze fell upon him, carrying a complex emotion she couldn’t define.
Over the past half year, she had gradually come to see Ye Chen’s place within the Ye family.
He was unvalued, even ignored.
Aside from Xiao Xiao, no one from the Main Residence had ever set foot in this small Courtyard.
He was like an invisible man forgotten by the clan, quietly living in his own world.
In this, he was so very much like herself, abandoned by the entire world.
So, he was a “kindred spirit” after all.
This realization gave rise to a strange, intimate sense of “shared sorrow” in her heart.
“Spirit-Focusing Grass prefers shade. You planted it in the west corner, which avoids the afternoon sun, but after autumn, the morning frost will eventually damage its roots.”
She suddenly spoke, her voice cold yet tinged with an unfamiliar sense of familiarity.
Ye Chen’s movements paused.
He looked up at her, clear eyes devoid of surprise, as if he had always known she would say this.
“No matter,” he said lightly. “It’s not that fragile.”
“All things have their nature. Following the flow is the right path.”
Xiao Liuli’s tone carried the instructive weight of a once-proud genius, something she had long grown used to.
Ye Chen stood, dusted the dirt from his hands, and walked slowly to the stone bench opposite her.
He sat, gazing at her calmly.
“Do you think it’s more like you, or more like me?”
Xiao Liuli was momentarily stunned.
She listened as Ye Chen continued.
“Born on cliffs, rooted in crevices, it appears weak, but is in truth resilient. The world only knows it calms the mind, yet few realize its roots must endure frost and snow before gaining their true medicinal power. The harsher the cold, the stronger it becomes. Tell me, does it need to be moved to a greenhouse?”
His voice was soft, yet struck Xiao Liuli’s heart like a heavy hammer.
She stared at him in a daze.
Was he talking about the grass, or… about her?
In those clear eyes, there was no pity, no sympathy—only an equal understanding that seemed to see through everything.
He knew.
He knew it all.
He knew her pride, her refusal to accept false shelter, her preference to struggle in hardship.
In an instant, a torrent of warmth surged through her, shattering her last line of defense.
Her eyes, frozen for so long, began to mist.
She suddenly lowered her head, hiding her loss of composure.
But the smile curling at her lips could no longer be suppressed.
Finally, a faint laugh—like the sound of ice cracking—escaped her lips.
It was light and brief, yet carried the unstoppable power of the first green shoot breaking through winter’s earth.
The Courtyard was silent, save for the sound of wind and falling leaves.
Ye Chen didn’t question her, nor did he show any surprise.
He simply picked up the cup of cold tea from the table and took a quiet sip.
As if this smile was the most natural part of the late autumn landscape.
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